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Always Hooping

July 28, 2026 by mountainmornings

A few things happened this week: the Rocker and Aunt Kiki moved into their new home; the Bride and Groom returned from their beach vacation; and we got our Certificate of Occupancy (CO) for the casita. We also escorted my sister Kay to Costco, again. These were not small tasks. But in the middle of ordering a sleeper sofa and finding just the right painting to hang in the casita’s tiny kitchen, I did read a bit about the rescheduled White House Correspondents’ Association Dinner (WHCAD).

What a jerk! Mr T was only too happy to bring his revenge tour to the people he calls “fake news.’ He attacked the incredibly handsome Senator Jon Osoff, spewed vitriol at Kaitlan Collins telling her she should smile more like some deranged domestic abuser, and threw his hands up in mock surrender when the Wall Street Journal received their award for investigating Mr T’s relationship with Jeffrey Epstein. CNN’s Wold Blitzer said out loud in front of one and all:

“Trump quickly filed a $20 billion lawsuit against The Journal, revealing reporter Khadeeja Safdar’s home address. Her family had to be relocated. The Journal was kicked off of Air Force One.” https://www.nytimes.com/2026/07/25/us/politics/trump-white-house-correspondents-dinner-speech.html?unlocked_article_code=1.1FA.5UQO.jluP4muk5KgI&smid=url-share

Let’s not forget his DOJ’s subpoenas of NYTimes reporters that was just quashed! Someone said this dinner was like a celebration of firefighters where the arsonist was invited to give the keynote speech. I’m beginning to question the need for a WHCAD. It’s a relic of the golden days of journalism, where mostly men with cigars clamped between their teeth sought to aggrandize themselves in the political halls of power. They could get dressed up and poke fun at the politicians they covered, because there was an unspoken agreement. Big secrets could be kept, like FDR’s wheelchair, for the greater good.

That all ended with Watergate.

Just for a moment, let’s compare and contrast another American president’s character this past week. If you’ve been following along with the WNBA, you may be aware of the slow social media rumble around another Kaitlan – Caitlin Clark. After a black player appeared to have hit her in the throat and a foul wasn’t called, a number of Republicans jumped in to write the league a letter! Imagine that, they can’t condemn their own president but they sure want to ‘protect’ their token white player.

“As Commissioner, you have an obligation to ensure that every player competes in a safe and professional environment, both on and off the court, free from violence, discrimination, or retaliation,” the letter said. “If discrimination or retaliation is occurring and creating a hostile work environment, we support any appropriate investigation by the Department of Justice, the Department of Labor, or the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission. If true, such conduct could constitute violations of federal civil rights laws.” https://www.theguardian.com/sport/2026/jul/09/republicans-ask-wnba-to-protect-caitlin-clark-from-possible-racially-motivated-attacks

Then this week President Barrack Obama stopped by a WNBA practice session at the new Presidential Library in Chicago. He put his arm around Clark, the Fever’s 24-year-old guard, and told her not to listen to all the noise (race baiting). He said she’s young to have so much fame happening and it’s hard; that she’s an excellent player, and she shouldn’t lose the joy of playing, she needs to keep hooping! He said, “You’re always hooping, and you’re on a nice little run right now.”

He didn’t tell her to smile more.

I was crying last night while chopping red onions for the mango tomatillo salsa I’m bringing to a Mahjongg birthday party today. We’ll chat about the skunk that’s discovered my bird feeder and politely ask for a Joker exchange, as usual. Bob always gets to chop up the mangoes.

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On Condition of Anonymity

July 21, 2026 by mountainmornings

My husband Bob flew a small 4-seater plane, a Piper Arrow, for awhile. Being a private pilot was his idea of recreation. He learned to fly in medical school. I think he loved being up above the clouds, away from the sturm and drang of everyday existence – out of touch and away from his training, floating in space. The only problem was when we married, I was a reluctant co-pilot; I abhorred encountering ‘weather,’ disliked getting my head tossed about, and lost it when our electrical system failed and we had to make an emergency landing. Of course this ER doc loved it! Bob cherished the checklists and had back-up plan after back-up plan ready to go.

So naturally I followed the NYTimes reporting about Mr T at the NATO summit in Turkey, switching up his new Air Force One, a grift from a Qatari prince, to an older model.

After all, who doesn’t travel with two jets? Supposedly the Secret Service was worried about the new jet’s defensive capabilities after the war that isn’t a war with Iran escalated. Once the news broke, Mr T made light of the situation saying they were sending the plane in to get “maxxed out!” The story might have died there… but the Grifter-in-Chief sensed a leak. He sent his DOJ into overdrive, subpoenaing Times journalists and their phone records for the whole year, including their family members!

Journalists in this country depend on a condition of anonymity. If our sources don’t want to be identified, we make a solemn promise to keep their identity out of print. We cannot be compelled to divulge that information, even by a judge. For most reporters of a certain age, myself included, we would rather go to jail. The NYTimes so far has quashed the subpoenas. The DOJ has said “… reporters are not the targets, those leaking classified information are.” Which sounds an awful lot like this will hurt me more than it will hurt you.

Over the years, I’ve heard many people say, “Don’t quote me on that.” So you learn to write, “A trusted source,” or “A friend told me,” or “The word on the street.” If a reporter gives up their source, and don’t forget we usually need three sources to substantiate information, they may as well hang up their pen along with their integrity. Luckily, I was never asked. No one needed to know who called the new Borough Hall paint color Pepto Bismol pink.

After three more American service members were killed this weekend, bringing the number of deaths to 17 with one MIA and hundreds injured, this administration has cleverly turned the tables of anonymity. This is a typical, adolescent MAGA tactic, the “No I didn’t lie about the election… YOU lied!” Hegseth captured the news cycle with testing the troops for testosterone, delaying the latest statistics in an unpopular and unending war/ceasefire/war with Iran.

“Eric Schmitt of the New York Times noted that lack of information from the Pentagon today when he reported that in the week before the weekend’s deaths, three Iranian strikes injured military personnel and damaged several helicopters yet the Pentagon under Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth did not disclose the strikes, the casualties, or the damage to the American people, citing the need to keep information about operations secure.” https://www.theguardian.com/us-news/us-politics

The need for security vs the need to know. Press freedom is fundamental to our Constitution. Thank God a judge has issued a temporary restraining order on the 81 Billion dollar merger between Paramount and Warner Brothers Discovery. That deal would put two trusted news sources, CNN and CBS, under the ownership of the Ellison family – all acolytes of DJ Trump. Have you tried watching Sixty Minutes lately? Will our democracy die through propaganda? Even Fox didn’t carry Mr T’s deranged primetime speech about election fraud this week.

Bob has told me that flying through white clouds and all of a sudden seeing the runway appear was always transcendental. For me it was a leap of faith, knowing my husband could land the plane and reciting the rosary on the way down. While ICE continues to shoot and kill people in our streets, and this president wages war on the Persian people and continues to concentrate power in the Executive branch, I have to believe that the American people will show up in force this November.

ps – this Virginia cousin can now VOTE!

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7 Surreal Pro-Aging Tips

July 14, 2026 by mountainmornings

It’s been a busy week folks. My lovely Great Niece and her two teens were visiting their Grandmother Kay from Missouri. We went out for barbeque and also did a tour of Nashville’s famous Frist Museum. “Fifty Years of Dreams,” the International Surrealism exhibit is on loan from the Tate in London and was not exactly Kay’s cup of tea. Artists like Salvador Dalí, Max Ernst, René Magritte, and Joan Miró were on display to challenge our usual mode of thinking about art – not as figural representations so much as dreamlike illusions of the subconscious mind.

Last night I had a bizarre dream about a bathtub, maybe I should break out a paintbrush?

Which leads me to the topic of pro-aging. After the past few years, after my nearly fatal fall and osteoporosis diagnosis, I figure I need to reframe the future. I’m not “anti-aging” so much because aging means we’re not dead yet! I read about a 91 year old who is hiking the Appalachian Trail this morning; and I also read a physician’s tips for turning our golden years into super powers. And the first thing the doctor prescribes is:

1: MOVEMENT.  “… muscle is your metabolic reserve. It stores glucose, regulates insulin, and secretes anti-inflammatory signals (called myokines) every time you lift something heavier than your cat.” Our mitochondria are the cells that run our metabolic system and they rely on strength training and cardio fitness. When the weather cooperates, I walk over a mile on the Greenway, and I love lifting my 20+ lb Grandbabies!

2: FEED YOUR BRAIN: “… polyphenols (hello berries), omega-3s (walnuts, flax, chia seeds), fiber (your microbiome says thank you), and glucose in stable, slow-drip doses. Add in plant-based meals, and you reduce neuroinflammation, support neurogenesis, and stabilize your blood sugar.” In other words, limit meat and forget fad diets and GLP 1 shots, it’s not how you look, it’s how are you thinking that counts! We’re eating berries and peaches from the Farmer’s Market these days.

3: STOP RUMINATING: “… older adults who age well develop emotional regulation superpowers, often through something called “positivity bias”. They literally train their brains to spend more time recalling positive memories and interpreting ambiguous events more generously. Instead of recalling those times you were bullied in school, remember that teacher or friend who helped you navigate through a crisis. I like to list my grateful highlights every night before bed.

4: WAKE UP WITH PURPOSE: “Purpose is Prozac for the soul. And unlike Prozac, it increases telomerase activity, the enzyme that protects your telomeres (those caps at the end of your chromosomes that keep your DNA from unraveling like an old phone charger).” If it’s Tuesday, I’m writing! Granted I love a day when Bob and I are free of doctor and PT appointments, but I also love my Mahjongg Thursdays! And I just added water aerobics to a few other days, so take that purpose!

5: CULTIVATE HABITS: “The brain’s prefrontal cortex tires easily. It’s a sprinter, not a marathoner. That’s why the people who age well don’t make a thousand decisions every day. They automate the good stuff.” Routines leave your brain free to do Wordle. I like to say, “Make it like brushing your teeth.” That early morning or post-dinner walk in the neighborhood. Going to bed at the same time every night. Nell used to hug and kiss me goodbye every time I left the house, because, “You never know.”

6: LAUGH MORE: “Humor reduces cortisol, increases immune cell production, and improves vascular function. Laughter literally exercises your vagus nerve, which is like the tuning fork of your nervous system.” Over the years, I find myself saying, “Someday we’ll look back at this and laugh.” Maybe I take the balcony view too often, but supposedly self-deprecating humor is the best of all – it builds resilience. Bob and I crack up about something nearly every day, maybe it’s good for your marriage too?

7: STAY CURIOUS: “Learning new things increases brain-derived neurotrophic factor (BDNF), your brain’s growth fertilizer. Novelty encourages the hippocampus (memory) and prefrontal cortex (decision-making) to keep firing.” Walk away from your comfort zone and try something new. I used to hate any meeting in which somebody said, ” Oh NO, we tried that before and it didn’t work!” You don’t have to learn Chinese, but you can learn to master American Mahjongg. In fact I just won a game for the second time this month!

Many thanks to Dr Laurie Marbas for her insight into aging. https://drlauriemarbas.substack.com/p/the-wisdom-years-7-habits-that-make

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Soccer vs Football

July 7, 2026 by mountainmornings

A long time ago, I asked my brother Mike, who was the GM of the Minnesota Vikings at the time, if soccer would ever replace football in this country. He didn’t hesitate to say, “No!” But I’m not so sure. I mean, think about Ted Lasso.

Since the early 2000s physicians and the NFL have known just what repeated concussions can do to the brain. Chronic traumatic encephalopathy, aka CTE, has been diagnosed in more than 345 post-mortem exams of 376 former football players. It’s estimated that 1 in 3 current players think they have the disease. Getting knocked out isn’t necessary, smaller impacts over time can be just as debilitating. And it’s nothing new in contact sports, boxers in the 1920s developed cauliflower ears and neurological symptoms – back then it was called “dementia pugilistica.”

Being a good Jewish mother, I signed my son up for soccer when he was in pre-school. The town league of Mini-Mights needed coaches, so I signed myself up for the course as well. I spent a day in a room with neighbors learning all the rules of soccer and taking a test, only to find myself assigning parents their weekend to bring orange wedges. Oh and following minor herds of wildebeests across a field in pursuit of a ball. I did get to wear a whistle.

We never got to the point of worrying about headers in soccer since ice hockey soon enough took precedence. What mother didn’t love the idea of ramming another hockey player against the boards? After all, ‘checking’ was allowed after a certain age whether we liked it or not. But I found myself wondering about the impact of headers while watching snippets of FIFA games these past weeks. Does hitting a soccer ball with your head cause the same kind of damage tackling can cause in American football? The answer is, maybe?

“Biomechanical modeling studies suggest that minor, repetitive head impacts could change the microstructure of the brain’s white matter, which plays a critical role in learning and memory. Diffusion MRI brain imaging can assess white matter microstructure, but due to technical hurdles, only in areas deep within the brain.” https://www.cuimc.columbia.edu/news/soccer-heading-does-most-damage-brain-area-critical-cognition

In other words, since evaluating the outer layers of white matter is difficult if not impossible now, we don’t know how impactful headers might be for young growing brains. But researchers have found repeated injuries to the skull do impair cognitive function. “Even with today’s lighter (soccer) balls, heading still jars the brain and is associated with learning and memory deficits, though the impacts do not cause concussions.”

I found myself rooting for Belgium during last night’s game in Seattle. After a perfectly patriotic Fourth of July, I was dismayed by Mr T’s interference in the FIFA World Cup playbook, giving Balogun a pass after a red card. Bob insisted the card was unfair, but we both agreed you don’t go behind the scenes and call President Infantino for a favor. Does he think he’s the Godfather? A red card is a red card. FIFA fever had reigned supreme for 24 days without one mention of the Toddler in Chief, so I guess he had to seek some publicity.

Still, I felt sorry for our guys. I cringed when the captain of the U.S. Men’s National Team (USMNT), Christian Pulisic, kicked another man’s heel instead of the ball. Born in PA but playing in the UK for a reported $73 million dollars, I felt slightly better this morning for Pulisic. Here I am with the Rocker in our 80s hair days.

ps: UEFA, the governing body of European soccer, said in a statement that the suspension of Balogun’s ban threatened the reputation of the tournament. “When the certainty of rules is no longer guaranteed by its guardians, the integrity of the game is at stake and the credibility of a competition is undermined,” UEFA said.

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Playing Mahjongg By Myself

June 30, 2026 by mountainmornings

First of all, strike up the band! It’s been 250 years and our country is still standing. We’re a bit bruised by the current occupant of the White House, and maybe our bones are getting brittle, and sure, our friends overseas (and to the north and south) don’t want to play with us anymore, but it’s all good. At least the SCOTUS sometimes still gets it right – every now and then. The New York Times reported yesterday:

“The Supreme Court on Monday declined a request by President Trump to review a $5 million civil judgment against him after a jury found in 2023 that he sexually abused and defamed the writer E. Jean Carroll. The announcement by the justices did not include any reasoning, and no public dissents were noted.”

Hooray for E Jean! She will maybe? get her 5 million; yep, the Justices pretty much said Mr T is a sexual predator, so what? He was found to have done the dirty deed at Bergdorf’s and he’s going to have to pay the fine. Maybe he can sell a few more coins with his head on them? And hold the presses! The Supreme Court just now rejected Mr T’s efforts to end birthright citizenship by a 6 -3 vote! Will wonders never cease.

But this morning I wanted to talk about personal friendships, and gaming. Not the internet type of gaming which is a solo endeavor – the kind where you actually sit down at a table with humans. My husband Bob isn’t competitive. In fact, he hates thinking of anybody losing, because when you win somebody has to lose, right? I used to joke that my husband was the only doctor in these United States who hates golf! He comes by this disinterest naturally.

His Mother, Grandma Ada, also looked askance at games in general. She never retired from her marriage counselor career, helping all the aides in her senior living community navigate love and loss. Whenever asked when she was going to retire, Ada would say, “What am I going to do, sit around and play canasta?”

It’s kind of funny that my sister Kay also has some disdain for games although she’s been known to play a card game called Spit and Malice. Sounds intriguing right? There’s a guy named Bill who would love to rope her into a weekly Bingo game, stay tuned! I used to think only Catholics played Bingo.

My neighbor, N, told me she started playing Mahjongg by herself to get better at learning the 2026 card and figuring out what to discard during the Charleston. She was a little slow in the beginning getting started, wanting to ask our teacher, Robin, for recommendations in the library. Since Robin flew back to NJ for the summer, N and I have been hosting games in our homes and I’ve noticed that she is now faster and surpassing many of us in her level of play!

So I figured I’d give it a shot. My dining table is set up as if four people are playing Mahjongg, but it’s just me. It’s difficult keeping four hands together and trying to stay focused while phones ring and the laundry calls my name. One is the loneliest number.

Did you happen to catch the PBS show “Wired for Connection?” https://pbs.org/show/wired-for-connection?source=social

Stay with me. It’s a fascinating look into the latest science on loneliness and how we humans are social animals. Evidence based, they study the effects of friendship: lower blood pressure: reduced dementia risk; stronger immunity; better sleep; and a longer lifespan. Not bad! And you would not believe the actual health complications that can result from a solitary lifestyle.

I’ve never been a girl gang type. Usually my MO is to have a few close friends and that’s it. Both of my mothers were loners. The Flapper was too busy working to socialize and Nell never learned to drive. We were like two Rapunzels on that hill in Victory Gardens. But since moving to Nashville in my dotage, I’ve acquired a bit of a posse.

There’s a few women who live on my street that are “ride or die” friends. And of course there’s cousin Peg in East Nash. We have the Germantown crew who still consider us friends/neighbors since we survived a tornado together, followed immediately by the pandemic and one near/trip to Italy. There’s always the Big Chill childhood friends who are scattered geographically but still close. And just this past year, I’ve found a whole new group of Mahjongg mavens!

There’s R who gives me a ride in her menopause convertible. There’s A and C, also Jersey girls, and Em a native Nashvillian and a realtor. There’s D who’s in charge of keeping a space for us in the library, and the aforementioned N from the block. And there are more women who cycle in and out depending on their schedules.

So I’m feeling hopeful. We Americans can right this ship! And I’m going to invite a few people over for the Fourth – the holiday that forever changed my family in our Year of Living Dangerously. Because why not celebrate our freedom while we still can?

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Sneaker Waves

June 23, 2026 by mountainmornings

Every time we travel, I learn something new. For instance, I’ve never heard of a sneaker wave. We’re not talking Nike variety, this is a particular kind of ocean wave that is like a mini tsunami. It usually follows a relatively calm number of regular waves and sneaks up on you, rolling beach walkers out to sea.

On this trip to California I’ve been getting a lot of sneaker wave feelings. Sitting at Twohees on Father’s Day watching a clown make balloon animals for the Twins; touring the Rocker and Kiki’s new house with their contractor: watching the girls play in water fountains at the botanical garden, suddenly my eyes well up. All the feelings just bubble to the surface and I’m lost.

Thinking about my son’s determination as a child, his ability to focus and his undeniable talent as an artist. Did I know when he would spend hours with his friend in our garage making stop motion films that he would grow up to lead a band in our garage?

And that band would take him around the world and land him in LA to make music for the film industry.

And did I think that in his 40s he would become the sweetest girl dad and the kindest husband? Parenting is such a crap shoot. We do the best we can at the time, and for some of those early years I was not as present as I should have been. I wasn’t happy leaving the Berkshires and living in suburbia. But eventually I came around, and found my tribe and started writing for a different newspaper.

I threw the baby Rocker birthday parties at the beach. I encouraged his curiosity. And I made tiny pizza bagels for the boys in the band and told the bass player to read Dune, never knowing that my son would work on the movie trailer. That he would compose music for Spielberg’s Disclosure Day.

Now I look at the Twins toddling around, both playing a harmonica while learning lots and lots of words like: Wow; Monkey; Car; Fish; and best of all NANA! Oh and when one girl gets excited, and starts to scream, the Rocker looks her in the eye and asks her how she’s feeling?

“HAPPY” she says.

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A Winning Streak

June 16, 2026 by mountainmornings

What a week!

The Knicks WON the NBA Championship with some of the most thrilling plays and underwhelming referees in the history of the game. Growing up in NJ, I’ve always loved the Knicks ever since their last win in 1973 when they defeated the Lakers. I was glad the crowd booed Mr T when he showed up at Madison Square Garden for Game 3, and happy to see Prince Harry sitting with the Commish at Game 5 for the win. I even loved seeing Taylor Swift do a little dance!

Tay Tay’s biggest fan, our Love Bug, has started training for high school basketball in the Fall. She even told me that she shot a 3 pointer that missed, while simultaneously running up to the basket to tap it in for the points. Incredible, she assisted herself! And that the girls played a boy’s team and WON. I’ve honestly never been so proud. Of course, I had to tell her about Bille Jean King. The Bug’s coach would like to recruit her for bigger and better teams, but for now she’d rather focus on volleyball… and starting high school.

And in even better news, last Thursday I walked into the library for my weekly Mahjongg game, fresh after the Knick’s come from 29 points behind win, and asked if anyone saw the game? Only the youngest woman there smiled and yelled YES, and I confessed that I’d gone to bed while the Knicks were 25 points behind thinking we were doomed. And now I cannot stop watching videos of the NY crowd at MSG losing their f-ing minds as the ball is gently assisted into the basket for the winning point. It is pure unadulterated joy! And just about an hour later, in the library…

I WON at Mahjongg for the second time since I’d started playing this year and I felt for just a few minutes a kind of joy – not the jumping up and down kind of joy – but an incandescent, quiet pleasure in understanding this game, in stretching my mind.

I was starting to feel defeated by Mahjongg. We had all been learning to play on the National Mahjongg League 2025 card, when the new 2026 card came out in April. Yep, just when you think you have a handle on strategy and a bit of memory for the winning lines, they throw it all up in the air and present you with a whole new card. “Save your 6s;” “Never stop the Charleston;” “Look for pungs;” were some of the tips I heard in the whirlwind of combinations my brain was trying to follow. This is not a game for the faint of heart.

Lately I’d had a passing thought, maybe I should return to the beginner’s table, where the play was slower and talking encouraged. Then it all came together.

To top off the weekend, we met our Germantown friends at the Schermerhorn Symphony to celebrate Juneteenth with the Nashville African American Wind Symphony (NAAWS). This is their fifth year in the community elevating composers and musicians of color. It was a glorious night filled with classical music alongside jazz and even some pop.

And speaking of concert halls, how about the John F Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts? The tarps went up and the huge bronze letters came down on Saturday after Rep Joyce Beatty of Ohio initiated a lawsuit to remove Mr T’s name. Thankfully a judge ruled that the center could not be renamed without approval from Congress. Thank you Rep Beatty.

I believe the tide is turning. Let’s make a joyful noise for our nation’s birthday this year.

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Waiting for Smaug

June 9, 2026 by mountainmornings

Right before the deluge of rain yesterday, our bathroom vanity showed up. Wayfair was supposed to text me between 2:30 and 6:30 to tell me they were 30 minutes away, instead I heard a faint knock on the front door at 1:30. It’s a good thing I was home, waiting, and not out looking at ceiling fans with Bob. I’d had a green vanity with a marble countertop in my cart for weeks, but when it came time to order I changed my mind. It was the marble. It’s too precious, too expensive, and too much trouble for the occasional guest to worry about staining.

Today we’ll open the carton to make sure the sink isn’t broken.

The kitchen appliances are all stacked neatly in the middle of the living area, waiting for the plumber. I didn’t want a big L-shaped kitchen in our little casita, they will be lined up against one wall – half of a galley. And I opted for no dishwasher, and instead ordered a washer/dryer combo like we had in our Charlottesville four square.

Don’t judge me. My brother, sister, and even my husband and daughter prefer washing dishes the old fashioned way, I’m presuming anyone staying with us will be sharing meals with us anyway.

And speaking of my sister Kay, she’s waiting for the elevator in her NYC co-op to be replaced. She would like to have her furniture shipped down here; along with her artwork, this would make her Nashville apartment feel more like home. It feels more like a hotel at the moment, with good restaurants, PT and OT that comes right to her door, and all the T’ai Chi and Bingo she never knew she wanted. Since her arrival, we’ve talked about making this a permanent move, but she’d been on the fence.

It’s hard to wait with uncertainty.

The work on the elevator was delayed, so a two month stay is stretching into three. Still, nothing can be done until there is a new elevator installed…

Our twin granddaughters are on the move in LA. They’ve started walking and are trying running and jumping too! They know lots of words and love to sing the “I Have Two Eyes” song with us on FaceTime, sticking out their tongues, blowing kisses. I cannot wait for our visit in a couple of weeks; last time we were there, they were still holding onto our fingers to take a few steps.

But we have to wait – for the plumber, the elevator, and our trip to California. Even the Love Bug is waiting to start high school and get her first phone, without social media mind you. The Pumpkin, OTOH, has finally become the proud owner of a bearded dragon named Smaug thank you Tolkien (pronounced Smog). He waited to find the perfect, large terrarium, he biked to the stream in the park to find a big piece of driftwood, and he signed a contract with his parents about its care and feeding. Let the summer commence.

Although we will still have to wait until at least June 13th to see if the Knicks can pull off a championship season!

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to be Rude or not to be Rude

June 2, 2026 by mountainmornings

Since I’ve stopped watching morning TV shows with my coffee, my life has improved. No more cursing under my breathe, a political veil of dread no longer accompanies me to the shower. Instead, I open my iPad to Substack and read – about how women need estradiol hormones after menopause; about a writer’s style vs their voice; about the intersection of physical and emotional pain; and occasionally I’ll read Mary Trump’s insights about her uncle.

But last night, after visiting Kay for some tech support, I was caught off guard by a barrage of comments on Threads – my pivot away from Twitter aka X – about an interview on the Today Show yesterday. People were up in arms about the way Craig Melvin treated our former First Lady, Dr Jill Biden. The word that kept popping up was that he was “RUDE.” So of course I had to open the interview this morning…. but first I put the Today Show on and was astounded at how simplistic and redundant it was, and this was before the puff pieces. I didn’t miss it in the least.

I wanted to see if Melvin would apologize. He didn’t.

Over the years I’d done my share of interviews for a local newspaper. Of course there were no cameras, and some were just on the phone. But I would try to dig beneath the facade of local color, not focus on what they were selling me about themselves. Why did the nurse move here? When did the hedge fund guy get interested in basketball? I’d take a corner and run with it, to fill out their personality on the page. To overuse an overused word, I’d try and make them relatable.

Jill Biden needs no introduction. She’s a smart, competent woman, a college professor, who married an older man. She raised his two sons as her own after the devastating car accident that killed Joe Biden’s first wife and baby daughter. Being a native of Scranton, PA and having been torn from my family after a car accident, I had always loved Joe Biden. And Jill was his rock, his “gut check.” Now she’s written a book – a memoir, “View From the East Wing.” You remember the East Wing don’t you? Bob’s reaction to all the press is similar to many Democratic strategists – why bring this all up, the failed debate and his failing health, right before the midterms? This is what Jill said in a January 2024 AP interview, when her husband was 81 years old:

“I say his age is an asset… He has wisdom. He has experience,” (Jill Biden) continued. “He knows every leader on the world stage. He’s lived history. He knows history. He’s thoughtful in his decisions. He is the right man or the right person for the job at this moment in history.”

And now she tells us she thought her husband was having a stroke while debating Mr T on June 27th of that same year. I watched my husband have a stroke, and he didn’t go right back to work. The doctors told her he was fine. But she wanted to “…lift him up.” Melvin pressed her by asking if Joe was too old for the job, and wasn’t she setting a “pretty low bar” by telling him only that he’d answered every question later that night. She insisted it was his decision and his alone, to stay in the presidential race. I felt sorry for Jill Biden, but I can’t imagine she wasn’t prepared to play hard ball with the press. I actually find it demeaning for people to react as if she’s a poor, pitiful older woman who needs protecting. Get over it social media, we Boomers have survived Watergate and worse.

Jill Biden wrote the book. She watched her husband lose support, she watched the bulldozers tear down the East Wing. It was like living in a Shakespearian tragedy. She has a right to her own story. Another First Lady had this to say about that.

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It’s Been a Week

May 26, 2026 by mountainmornings

It’s been exactly one week since the Love Bug graduated eighth grade. All the girls wore white dresses and were handed one white rose. And I consider myself lucky to have been there, to witness her with her friends. Because she is September’s child, she is one of the youngest of her posse; still wearing Converse sneakers and socks. They laugh wholeheartedly, and cry as if the world just ended. Some of the students will be moving on to a different high school, but they promise to still call. Or do nearly 14 year olds make phone calls? More likely some text chains will continue, and some will change.

The forecast called for rain, and so the graduation ceremony was held inside.

The Pumpkin’s band, “Snakebite,” was the opening salvo of the evening. His guitar riffs were tight, and the bassist was quite a performer. Cell phone lights were waving in the air and they got a standing ovation in Music City no less. Four 5th Graders, younger brothers, ruling the roost, until the curtain closes and a gigantic screen descends for a video trip down memory lane. Parents and grandparents were tearing up. The Love Bug dancing at age 4, her friend as a baby covered in birthday cake. Then we see clips from present day, with the Bug spiking a volleyball at the net. She is a smart, talented, exceptional human – a wonderful friend, a loving grandchild.

Today the rain continues, with flooding likely and a chance of thunderstorms.

I am glad the Bride and Groom have stood their ground about cell phones. The Bug can text with her friends from her watch, but she has been gifted her middle school years in real life (IRL). I suspect once high school starts, she will have a phone. But I am also pretty sure she will be a responsible user; she’s seen the downsides already – all night texting for example. I asked the Pumpkin what percentage of kids in his grade have phones? “About 20%,” he said, which seems reasonable, better than I thought. After all, this week it seems our President had been leading us through his social media posts – even skipping his son’s wedding in the Bahamas to stay at the White House. Heather Cox Richardson wrote this:

“Trump’s social media account over the weekend was active. He twice posted an image of himself leering over Greenland with the caption “Hello, Greenland!” and repeated suggestions that “China Loves Trump.” He posted an AI image of Representative Ro Khanna (D-CA) as a devil (I think), calling him a “SLEAZEBAG” and a “Dumocrat,” and an image of eight lawmakers or officials in orange jumpsuits (except for Obama’s tan one), claiming they had “Caused tremendous damage through Weaponization!” And he posted a number of images of colorful fountains.”

Scattered showers are still possible, flood advisory will lift in one hour.

The problem is, our flood advisory never lifts. Mr T is always flooding the zone, one minute saying the negotiations are going well in our adventure in Iran, and the next bombing them. Despite its blatant illegality! We have a government that bends the knee to this orange would-be king who rules via late night and early morning social media rants. Maybe we need our legislators to pass a law setting an age limit for elders with dementia? No social media accounts over 70 if you use AI to make yourself look like Jesus.

I am drowning in his fantasy world, trying to create a slush fund for his cronies. I wonder if the GOP will grow a spine, finally. And now excuse me while I find my umbrella and tell the painters to move their trucks because the new dumpster has arrived. Just in time.

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